


Makaria

by powerandpathos



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Anal Sex, Apocalypse, Blow Jobs, End of the World, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Music, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerandpathos/pseuds/powerandpathos
Summary: But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right?
Relationships: He Tian/Mo Guanshan (19 Days)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 262





	Makaria

**Author's Note:**

> This work was wholly inspired by (and semi-based on) the song ['If The World Was Ending'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jO2wSpAoxA) by JP Saxe (feat. Julia Michaels) and the movie 'Melancholia' (2011) directed by Lars von Trier. All errors are my own.

The news hit their phones at 7.35pm. Summer twilight was setting in on the east coast, and Guan Shan was taking the restaurant’s final orders for the night. He had a week of paid leave set up and a train booked to Mianyang, where he would hole up in a farmstay B&B and review proofs and finish the final edits for his book. 

His advance hadn’t been much, and his publisher still wasn’t sure if Xinhua would sign for enough copies, but Guan Shan still had his job at the restaurant, and it was good enough to hold the glossed pages of his work in his hands. They were slotted neatly into a portfolio folder, now locked away in the office beneath the manager’s desk, and he would grab it in twenty minutes before heading to the station for the night train, apron tossed in the wash basket and hands smelling of vinegar. He’d splashed out for the journey: bought a sleeper cabin for himself and paid extra for the direct train, and he’d be in Sichuan by sunrise. The Grab was pre-booked to pick him up from the station, and an early check-in had been arranged.

It was going to be quiet: farmyard animals chittering through the night, an uninterrupted skyline of fields to the north, aplenty with sweet potato and corn, and a bamboo forest to the south. He would see the stars, distant smoke from wood fires in the villages, morning fog rising from the mountains like steam on a racehorse. 

Instead, there was this: a planet, hidden behind the sun, propelled into rapid existence. The scientists called it a flyby at the beginning of the month—a planetary flyby—and Guan Shan had gone to work that week expecting to be alive by the end of it. Now, he wasn’t so sure, and neither was anyone else. _It’ll pass,_ they said. _There may be some disruption to telecommunication and electrical systems for a few hours, maybe even a few days, but it will pass._ A global message, NASA- and CNSA- and ESA- and every-other-space-agency-certified.

It was a speck on their TV screens to begin with, blotting out a few constellatory stars at a time, and by Thursday it was a golf ball on the western horizon, grey-green and murky, crossing through solar systems and moving too fast to latch onto any orbit. It would pass like the most beautiful shooting star the world had ever seen—or it would burn into their atmosphere and annihilate 8 million species before any even felt the tremor of impact. 

By now, world leaders had been sent to underground bunkers, locations undisclosed, and Guan Shan had allowed an extra hour to get to the station because of the rioting. As Guan Shan processed the cash reconciliation for the day, his phone lit up with a message:

PLANET ‘MAKARIA’ SET TO COLLIDE WITH EARTH, SCIENTISTS CONFIRM. FIND SHELTER IMMEDIATELY. 

He put his phone down, nudged the till shut until it dinged, and stared out through the empty restaurant. The lights inside were set to low, windows covering the front of the restaurant, and so he could see every single person walking along the pavement out the front, their faces lit up by street lamps and phone screens as they read the same message. 

‘Huh,’ Guan Shan said softly. He heard the cries on the streets, mournful and involuntary, the shriek of car horns being held, the shuddering thump of two cars colliding.

What a waste.

* * *

The electricity shut out when Guan Shan unlocked the door to his apartment, and the sun had long since set. He fumbled for twenty minutes to find a packet of tealights and a cigarette lighter from a pair of jeans on his bedroom floor, and lit up the open plan living-kitchen room like he was hosting a seance. 

There was a bowl of congee covered in the fridge, a tupperware container filled with noodles drenched in chilli oil, and half a dozen eggs three days past their expiry date. Guan Shan rested his forehead on the freezer door, stared down into the fridge, and sighed. No emergency generators, which meant no microwave and no kettle. He was fortunate to be poor enough that his apartment was old and fitted with a small gas stove with two burners. For a last supper, it would do. 

Trains had been cancelled, and buses were running for one more hour, but the roads were already gridlocked and chaotic. The sound of smashed glass and sirens flitted up to the apartment, and Guan Shan let the world break down below him like an orchestra while he let two eggs sizzle on the stove, nudging the crisping edges with a spatula, oil stinging his skin. 

The knock came while he was plating, and he wiped oil from his fingers with a towel and a frown while he headed to the door. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He should have considered the brief indulgence over the past few hours as something closer to reality—should have understood that, if he had considered it, He Tian would do more than ponder it. He would pay for a seat on the next chartered flight to Beijing and walk three hours from the airport to Guan Shan’s apartment, and climb the forty flights now that the elevators were out. 

‘Evening,’ He Tian says, panting a little, slouching slightly in the doorway. 

‘You fuckin’ reek.’

‘I was hoping you’d let me use your shower.’

Guan Shan stepped back to let him in, then slid the chain back in place. ‘You got a flight from Shanghai to use my fuckin’ shower?’

‘Money is a sort of madness,’ He Tian murmured, casting his gaze around the apartment. He’d only seen it in video calls, a backdrop to their arguments, their eventual break-up. He took it in now, the space smelling of garlic and chilli oil, flickering with the orange glow of thirty-something candle wicks swimming in hot wax. 

‘Not enough to buy you a space in that bunker,’ Guan Shan remarked.

He Tian turned to look at him, gone still. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do,’ he said. Guan Shan’s apartment was east-facing, a beacon of warm light in the mornings, stifling in summer. Makaria was approaching from the west, and its advance was invisible from his apartment. He would never see it hit. ‘There won’t be anything left for anyone.’

‘Why are you here?’ Guan Shan asked, moving towards the kitchen. His noodles were still warm, but the egg yolks were going cold. ‘If you’re gonna be this fuckin’ depressin’—’

‘Aren’t you _scared?’_

Guan Shan plucked a set of chopsticks from the draining board over the sink. ‘Scared?’ he echoed. ‘You said it yourself. There’s gonna be nothin’ left. What’s the point in bein’ scared? We’re not gonna feel it. It’s all just—just fuckin’ irrelevant.’

‘I’m scared,’ said He Tian. He was still standing by the door, distracted by the flicker of candlelight, the long shadows it cast along the floorboards. ‘I thought we’d have more time.’

Guan Shan flashed a glance at him. ‘You and me? For what?’

‘For anything we wanted.’

Guan Shan cradled the bowl against his stomach. How long did they have? Days? Hours? He hadn’t read the report. He’d seen the headline, pocketed the cash from the till, and left. The restaurant would be looted in a few hours, pantry and freezers pilfered, furniture butchered and burned. There’d been nowhere for Guan Shan to go but home. 

He’d supposed he’d spent it all alone, no phone signal or WiFi, no way of reaching anyone that mattered. There was a portable charger somewhere in his apartment—it would give him music and downloaded boxsets for a few hours or a day, at most. Some books he hadn’t read yet, others he’d thumbed through enough to wear out the spines. His guitar needed restringing, but it would play well enough in a moment of desperation. Enough food to last him a few days, pantry staples he’d ignored for the better part of a year, only turning to out of sheer laziness or drunkenness. He’d had everything he needed. He hadn’t thought about want.

‘Go shower,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know when the water’s gonna shut off.’

Guan Shan ate while He Tian headed to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar while he showered so the steam creeped through the gap and filled up the windows. Guan Shan washed the dishes, laid out a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt outside the bathroom door—a little big for him, moth holes around the hem—and then popped a couple benzos. Ten minutes passed, and He Tian emerged reddish and tired-looking, somehow less ragged in Guan Shan’s sweats than he had in his three-thousand-yuan jeans and dress shirt, missing the layer of dust and grime and sweat.

‘As last showers go,’ He Tian started, feet scuffing along the floorboards, ‘that one was pretty good.’

Sitting on the sofa, Guan Shan propped his chin in his palm on the armrest. ‘We could have a couple days.’

‘We don’t,’ says He Tian, settling down beside him. He makes a sound at the look on Guan Shan’s face, waves a hand in the direction of the TV, their reflections dark, shapeless blots in the empty screen. ‘After all the bullshit they’ve told us, you believe them now?’

‘Who else am I gonna believe? I’m supposed to sit here and piss myself and think otherwise, yeah? Sounds like a fuckin’ riot. Maybe as well slit my own fuckin’ wrists.’

He Tian’s smiled, jaw stiffening. ‘Tell me I’ve wasted my time.’

Guan Shan looked at him. The pills were setting in, drowsiness tugging at his eyelids, but he tasted ash on his tongue. ‘You thought after a year, I’d want you here? Now? When the world’s about to fuckin’ end? _This_ is when you wanted to reconnect?’

‘Better late than never.’ 

When Guan Shan didn’t reply, He Tian sighed. He got to his feet, and carried over the worn leather satchel he’d dropped at the front door when he’d first arrived. From the side pocket, he pulled out a blocky-looking phone with an antenna sticking out the top. 

‘It’s a satellite phone,’ He Tian said, standing in front of Guan Shan. He held the phone out. ‘You should still be able to reach her.’

‘She doesn’t have a—’

‘My brother does. He picked her up in Tianjin and took her to the house. I didn’t think you’d want her to be alone.’

Guan Shan stared at the phone. It was a little battered, but the screen glowed. The battery symbol sat in the corner: 97%. He spoke with his mother once a week on WeChat, video calls that lasted a minute or an hour depending on his mood, his work shift, what new deadline he was facing from his publisher. This would be different: too much focus on the sound of her breathing, the delayed crying at the other end of the line. How could they say goodbye like this?

‘I can’t,’ he said, like He Tian had held out a gun with which he was meant to kill them both. ‘I’m—I can’t. Fuck off. Put it away.’

He Tian didn’t move. ‘This will be your last chance.’

‘I _can’t_.’

‘Take the fucking phone, Guan Shan,’ He Tian said coldly, when Guan Shan turned his face away. ‘You don’t know what I’d give to talk to my mother for the last time if I could.’ 

‘Good thing yours is dead.’

It was bruise-worthy. Deserved of the broken blood vessels that usually came along with it. Something in He Tian’s eyes went flat, a blankness that Guan Shan knew meant he should brace, step away from the fist that always swung too fast. The base of his skull pressed firmly into the back of the sofa, heartbeat ricocheting in his throat— _ba-dump, ba-dump—_ but it didn’t come. 

Instead, He Tian let the phone clatter onto the coffee table, the impact emitting a crack that made Guan Shan flinch, and He Tian looked at him with something that was gutting, the disappointment singeing him and settling on his tongue like he’d swallowed a mouthful of embers, flesh on the inside of his cheeks burnt to rawness. 

‘The world is ending, Guan Shan,’ he said quietly, a kind of warning. ‘Let your demons lie.’

Guan Shan, never learning his fucking lesson, scowled at him. ‘I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ _advice_ ,’ he growled. ‘I thought I was never gonna hear from you again. Never gonna fuckin’ see you. I wasn’t gonna talk to my mom and it—it was just gonna be me.’

After a minute, He Tian dropped down next to him. ‘You thought you’d be alone.’

‘Wanted to be.’

‘Honestly?’

Guan Shan glanced at him. The last time he’d smoked a cigarette, he’d been lying on the floor of his old apartment’s kitchen. They’d used He Tian’s jeans as a pillow, dragged a throw blanket from the sofa to stop He Tian’s knees and shoulder blades from bruising against the linoleum, staggering through the matchbox space with their elbows and hipbones knocking on furniture corners and each other, drawing blood from each other’s mouths like they were tearing skin for air. 

He Tian had, in a token of resourcefulness, found the crumpled remnants of a packet of Haomao menthols from his blazer near the front door, and they’d shared three with a lighter that struggled to catch, silent and amused at a joke neither of them had told. Guan Shan’s mouth had felt stale for the rest of the day, the smell of tobacco clinging to his skin even after the second shower. It took him two days for the realisation to dawn: the smell didn’t come from the cigarettes.

Guan Shan wanted a drag of it now, the ashen taste that wasn’t anything like mint.

‘I dunno,’ he said eventually. ‘I thought it’s what I’d get.’

‘I’m sorry for ruining your night,’ said He Tian. He spread his arms across the back of the sofa, rested one ankle across his knee. ‘You always did like your pity parties.’

Guan Shan’s gaze fell through the windows. He’d never seen that kind of darkness, where the only light through the whole city was the orange, memorial glow of candlelight in apartment windows and bonfires on the streets below, cars set to burn and shop windows smashed through. 

‘People are jumpin’ from their balconies and killin’ their kids,’ he murmured. ‘I guess I was gonna go to bed.’

‘Would you have slept through the night?’ He Tian asked, a strange note to his voice.

‘I’ve got a good supply of trazodone.’

He could feel He Tian’s heavy gaze. The anger between them had fizzled out, the satellite phone ignored and forgotten on the table. Outside, the sound of smashed glass splintered in the air, the hot flare of an explosion spitting upwards, smoke like a signal fire. 

‘Do you want to watch it?’ He Tian asked. 

Guan Shan turned his gaze towards him. ‘Watch…’

‘Makaria.’ _Mah-car-ree-uh._ Blessed. 

Guan Shan wondered who got to name it, wondered if now they’d realised their terrible mistake. Maybe, at the time, they’d already known. The joke had been theirs, damnation certain and mathematically ordained. Blessed. 

Were they?

‘You wanna _watch_ the thing that’s gonna fuckin’ kill us all?’

He Tian said, ‘You used to bring a lighter to class. You dragged your fingertips through the flame like you wanted to burn off your whole fucking hand.’

‘Asbestos fingers.’

He Tian rolled his eyes. ‘The point is—what’s the difference? Playing with fire and watching Makaria.’

The answer came easy: ‘I could control what was gonna hurt me.’

It wasn’t always true. He remembered He Tian talking about how helpless he was in the face of Guan Shan’s love, surrendered to it like he was the sun on a cloudless day. But he always had more agency than that; he was reared with the expectation that everything was in his hands. Put there by money and blood and other people’s fear. Ultimately, he loved Guan Shan because he let himself do it. Fucked him and let himself be fucked because he said _yes._ Because he said _please._ Guan Shan couldn’t control a single part of him, but it had been nice to pretend, for a while, that he could. 

‘You can shut your eyes,’ said He Tian. ‘It’s a nice night.’

‘Everyone from the buildin’ will be up there,’ said Guan Shan. ‘I don’t wanna die with a bunch of strangers. People are gonna be jumpin’.’

‘You can shut your eyes.’

 _‘You—’_ Guan Shan bit his tongue. ‘I’m not sittin’ on the fuckin’ roof, He Tian.’ 

He Tian smirked. ‘I understand. You want it to be the two of us.’

‘I never said that.’

 _‘You_ want to be in my arms.’

‘Never _said—’_ Guan Shan stopped. A dark streak blurred across the windows, like something kicked off a ledge. An asteroid, Guan Shan thought at first. A satellite struck out of orbit by Makaria. But surely it wasn’t that close yet. ‘Shit,’ he said softly, getting to his feet. It was one thing to say it, another to see it. 

‘What’s wrong?’ He Tian asked, following close behind as Guan Shan moved to the windows. He stopped inches from the glass. 

‘I think I just saw someone…’

The tower was too high to see the ground directly below, and he didn’t pay rent for a unit with a balcony. Now, he was fucking glad for it. 

Understanding, He Tian tugged at the string for the blinds, let them drop until the city was hidden from view, the fabric clattering quietly against the windowsill. Eventually, they stilled. The apartment suddenly felt too small, and Guan Shan felt desperate for morning, for the sun to rise. He wanted to be in Sichuan, where the air would have been cool and still and quiet, clouds pinkish with dawn. He wanted to see his mother, to say he was sorry for all the things that renegade kids with absent fathers do, to say thank you for all the things that renegade kids with absent fathers forget to. He wanted another day at the restaurant and to hold his finished book in his hands and to sign his first copy and—

‘I want you.’

He heard his own words, wanted to pull them back in, but his heart was fluttering too fast—too constant—in his throat to do anything but let them spill.

He Tian angled his head. ‘Because you want me or because we’re going to die soon?’

Guan Shan stared at him. Was He Tian _deliberating_ over this? 

‘D’you even care?’ Guan Shan asked dumbly.

‘I think that would be a waste of very precious time.’

Neither of them moved. Guan Shan realised they were both waiting for the other—a signal fire that said _go._ Something to authorise the wanting, the holding, the touching. Something to break the dam. Maybe they both moved first, but Guan Shan only remembered the space between them feeling smaller than it should have before their mouths met.

He remembered He Tian’s hands in his hair, pulling in that same, sharp-sweet way, nails grazing his scalp until he shuddered; He Tian’s mouth pulling blood to the surface on his neck, red ‘o’-shaped marks that might not get the chance to purple. He didn’t want to look outside; he wanted to look at the sky without knowing that a planet was looking back at him, and so instead he let himself be touched, let himself fall to the floor of his apartment with He Tian tugging at his clothes, his hands pulling at the soft cotton of his own clothes on He Tian’s skin. 

Guan Shan took off his t-shirt, his dark jeans, his underwear. He let He Tian’s eyes track the constellation of freckles that moved from his nose to his collarbones, let him drag a fingertip from the strip of hair below his navel to between his thighs like he was tracing a map. Guan Shan’s stomach swooped, the floor collapsing beneath him, the familiar freefall of He Tian’s mouth on his cock, toes curving against the floorboards, a building, concentrated heat of a supernova ready to burst—

Then He Tian stopped. 

When Guan Shan peeled his eyes open, he saw He Tian watching him, propped up on his elbow, smiling. 

‘Why’d you stop?’ Guan Shan asked, breathing shallowly.

‘I wanted to make it last.’

Guan Shan wet his lips. ‘Sounds like a waste of time.’

‘When it comes to this, there’s no such thing.’ As if proving a point, He Tian let his hand wrap around the base of Guan Shan’s cock, long fingers in a loose grip that Guan Shan, face colouring in shame, cursing, felt his hips buck into.

He Tian leaned in close and asked, ‘Did anyone touch you while I was gone?’

Guan Shan squeezed his eyes shut. ‘You don’t wanna ask that shit.’

He Tian kept his hand moving, the gesture lazy, like he could take it or leave it. ‘Too late.’

Guan Shan shook his head. ‘You’re tryin’ to—’ Heat shuddered through him, and he had to start again, the words—all sense—snatched from him. ‘Are you seriously tryin’ to validate yourself right before another fuckin’ planet crashes into us?’

He Tian leaned down to kiss Guan Shan’s thigh, tenderly placed. ‘I can love you more.’

‘That’s not what— _Fuck—’_

 _It’s not a competition,_ is what he wanted to say, but a convulsion ran through him, all fever, and his head smacked back against the floor. He didn’t try to talk again; He Tian took his silence as an invitation to resume the workings of his tongue, his throat, the careful graze of his nails that sometimes dug a little too deep and made Guan Shan hiss. 

He Tian sucked him off like he did everything: to prove a point. This time, it was that He Tian knew how he tasted, how he sounded, how his body could shudder and his mouth whimper under the right circumstances. That He Tian could make him come better and more and in the only way that mattered. Incidentally, that He Tian _was_ better, and more, and the only one that mattered. 

The orgasm came too quick, a wave that rushed through, tsunami-wrecking, and left him shaking and breathless. His eyes rolled back in his head, his spine arching, feet kicking against the floor while He Tian held him in place, and then, after a few seconds, the sensation was gone. He Tian’s hand pulled away, and Guan Shan knew what would come next: the quick search for lube, for condoms. 

Without reason, Guan Shan felt a lump start to build in his throat, eyes starting to sting, and he turned away as if to reach for his clothes. His face burned in embarrassment, and he bit his lip in frustration.

He Tian pushed himself up, swiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. ‘What are you—Hey, we’re not finished.’

‘Yeah, we are. I’ve had enough.’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘I said _enough_ , He Tian.’

He could feel He Tian’s eyes on him as he grabbed the pile of his clothes from the floor and moved quickly to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar and twisting the shower handle to a temperature hot enough that his skin smarted when he forced his body into the shower. He wondered, spine bowed beneath the spray of water, if it would burn. 

Was it stupid, he wondered, to bother with a shower? Should he let himself stink of sweat and cum for the next few hours, or days? How long before his skin was incinerated from Makaria’s impact? How long before there was no consciousness, a global eradication of thought and social expectations and the obsession with being so goddamn fucking _clean?_

Guan Shan’s hand jerked outwards like a slingshot until his knuckles smacked dully against the tiles. Pain burst in his hand, and his mouth curved into a silent ‘O’ of agony. With a sob, he cradled his fingers to his chest. There was no blood, no split skin, but his bones throbbed with an ache not unlike the one between his thighs.

_What the fuck is wrong with my head?_

‘I hope that wasn’t your jerk-off hand.’

Guan Shan pressed his forehead to the tiles and groaned. The shower was still hot, the water now a dull pain in comparison to his hand, trembling and unbeautiful.

‘Fuck off, He Tian,’ he said bleakly. 

He Tian closed the lid on the toilet next to the shower and sat himself down on it. He was still naked, but everything from his chest downwards remained blurry as he swiped condensation from the shower glass and looked upwards. 

‘Tell me you didn’t miss this,’ He Tian said.

Dumbfounded and hurting, Guan Shan asked, ‘Which part?’

‘The part where I fucked you and then had to convince you it was good. It was a good thing.’

Guan Shan shook his head and refused to open his eyes. ‘I’m not havin’ a fuckin’ gay crisis.’

‘That’s not what I meant. You’re scared that you still want me.’

Guan Shan pounded his good hand against the glass. ‘You’re full of shit.’

He Tian’s voice came from behind him this time, and Guan Shan heard the soft _thwick_ of the shower door coming to a close. ‘You’re scared you’ve wasted a year without me,’ He Tian continued, ‘and you don’t have the time to make up for it.’

Despite the heat, Guan Shan could feel himself shaking. ‘Is that what you meant?’ he asked. ‘Earlier?’

_I’m scared._

He Tian’s fingertips touched Guan Shan’s waist, his hips, the crook of his elbows, came to rest on his shoulders, fingers curving over towards his collarbones, thumbs pressing into the curve of his spine just below his nape. The weight of his touch was heavy, and Guan Shan felt too tired to do anything but lean into it. He reached to turn off the water, and then leaned back, damp skin moulding against He Tian’s chest.

He Tian’s lips moved against the curve of Guan Shan’s ear. ‘It scared me how much I missed you. How much I still needed you.’

‘You don’t—you don’t _need_ me.’

He Tian’s hand flattened against Guan Shan’s abdomen. He used to press there when they fucked, to try to feel the shape of himself from inside. He touched Guan Shan now as if there were an emptiness he was desperate to fill.

‘I always need you. I needed you before I knew you.’

Guan Shan clenched his jaw. He should push He Tian away, tell him to get out, to leave, that he was serious this time. But the words made him ache; he knew he’d never hear them again, and even if He Tian was saying it to fuck him, they hit him harder than they should. He’d missed the validation, the way he felt it in his chest like _baijiu_ pouring down his throat—no burn on his tongue, just the slick pooling of heat.

He said, ‘Then show me.’

* * *

‘Ma? Yeah, it’s me, it’s—Ma, don’t cry. Please. Please don’t cry.’

He Tian cracked his eyes open. 

Guan Shan’s words were a low hum from the living room, the bedroom door a thin plywood that let through his clipped, gravelly voice. It was warm in the room, and He Tian squinted against the grey-glow of light that slipped through the crack in the blinds. Morning, maybe. How long had he slept? How long had Guan Shan been awake? How much time did they have?

‘I’m fine. I’m safe. He Tian’s here. He said you were at the He’s?’

He Tian rolled onto his back and lay there, listened, felt his breathing and the rise of his chest. Without the AC, humidity seeped through the walls, and He Tian was already sweating in the sheets.

‘Dunno. Haven’t looked outside since last night…’ A chuckle. ‘That big, huh? Guess it’s movin’ pretty fast now.’

The room smelled of smoke—candles burnt down to the wick and their little aluminium containers. If he opened the blinds, what would he see? A sky filled with another planet?

‘I know what I’m doin’,’ Guan Shan was saying, quietly. ‘Don’t have much time to regret it, do I?’

 _There’s always time for regret_ , He Tian thought. He’d lived with a year of it. 

‘Listen. Eat somethin’, yeah? Are you listenin’ to me? Eat. Get dressed. Go for a walk. They’ve got too much fuckin’ land not to be walked on. Have a—have a good day. Can’t waste this one.’

He Tian closed his eyes. 

‘Love you. See you soon, Ma.’

* * *

They watched a movie on Guan Shan’s phone, and he spooned out two bowlfuls of leftover congee, which they ate, cold, at the table. They drank _baijiu_ with their breakfast, toasted to anything they could think of, distracted each other on the sofa for half an hour when the dishes were clean—and then they went to the rooftop.

It was different in the day—no crowds, couples or small groups of friends in pajamas on picnic blankets. The humidity hit them quickly, sweat prickling on the backs of their necks and soaking their shirts. Beer bottles and empty cigarette cartons littered the concrete, and there were a few people asleep or unconscious, propped against the entrance to the stairwell. Mostly, Guan Shan noticed the silence: no birds, no cars. No one talked, the silence deep and heavy, like they’d walked into a meditation session that had been lasting for days. Like it was winter in a forest, picking their way through noodle cartons like treading lightly for exposed roots and slick patches of rock and stone, trees barren. The only sound their footsteps and breathing; the only sight—Makaria.

His mother had been right: it filled the sky, like watching a movie screen roll down at the cinema. Frankly, it looked fake, superimposed as part of some grand social experiment by the government. Guan Shan could see its mountains, its rivers, the grey swathe of its atmosphere like a haze of smoke.

 _Why didn’t they just move there?_ some people had been asking. It was habitable, wasn’t it? A flyby planet perfect for survival, three times bigger than Earth, plenty of room for everyone. Guan Shan wouldn’t be surprised if there were people there already, bracing for impact, tickets paid for with influence. Celebrities and socialites, politicians and scientists and engineers, and people who lived through the cracks, like the He’s. Survival wasn’t guaranteed—but it was possible.

They laid down a towel on an empty spot of concrete, the summer sun making it hot. Guan Shan sat carefully, minding the boxer’s fracture on his right hand that He Tian had wrapped the night before. There used to be wire fencing around the perimeter off the roof, but someone had come around a week ago with a set of wire-cutters, leaving a gaping hole through the fence and a clean view of Makaria. He Tian was leaning back on his hands, and staring at it. Guan Shan couldn’t figure out the expression on his face.

‘Kind of beautiful, isn’t it?’ He Tian said, in a tone that suggested the words were only half-meant to be heard.

‘I guess,’ said Guan Shan, swiping the back of his hand across his damp forehead. ‘If you’re into that kind of…’

‘Nihilist point of view?’

Guan Shan shook his head. ‘ _Death’s a beautiful thing_ point of view.’

He Tian arched his throat to look at him. He looked remarkably, annoyingly at peace. ‘There’s something about staring it straight in the face,’ He Tian said. ‘Certainty. Most people don’t get that. There won’t be pain or suffering.’

‘Dunno if we know that for sure.’

He Tian smirked. ‘Are you hoping for a Hunger Games reenactment?’ he asked. ‘Molten lava and everyone running around screaming?’ He lifted his hands up, said softly, _‘Aaaaah—’_

Guan Shan smacked his hands down. ‘’Course I’m fuckin’ not. I don’t want that for people.’

He Tian lifted his eyebrows slightly in surprise, then shrugged. ‘You always cared more than you let on, didn’t you, Mo Guan Shan?’

‘Dunno if not wanting a fuckin’ hell-scape is _carin’_ , but—’ He broke off. ‘Never liked the apocalypse movies much. Hard fuckin’ work, that survival shit.’

He Tian laughed, a startled thing that drew other people’s attention, and then coughed hurriedly into the crook of his elbow, still smiling. It was a nice thing to hear, the curve of his lips a nice thing to see. Given everything, Guan Shan could still, without any intention, make He Tian laugh. 

Guan Shan looked away. ‘How long d’you think we’ve got?’

The questioned sobered them both. ‘Not long,’ said He Tian, squinting at the planet. ‘It was small yesterday.’ He looked around, drew his knees up, looping an arm around them languidly, almost boyish, and dropped his voice. ‘I think it’s easy to lose sense of how— _fast_ that thing is moving. We’re so small. We have no perspective. That thing’s going to crash into us like a fucking...’

‘Planet?’

He Tian grinned. ‘Nice.’

Guan Shan knocked his shoulder against He Tian’s mutely. He was grateful for the sun’s warmth on his skin, chasing away the goosebumps that kept sending shockwaves down his arms and pebbling his skin like a stone thrown on a lake. Fight or flight. Nothing to fight, and nowhere to go.

‘We could jack a car,’ he blurted. 

He Tian appraised him. ‘We could,’ he agreed, a little slowly. ‘Where do you want to go?’

It was the wrong question—it wasn’t that he _wanted_ to go anywhere; it was that, right now, he could. It was that they only had a few hours, maybe less, and there was everywhere and nowhere to go, and sitting felt like losing.

‘Anywhere,’ he said.

He Tian stretched his arms out, sucking on his teeth. ‘There won’t be any border control now. The only thing stopping us is the coast.’

‘And fuel.’

‘Let’s look at the bigger picture, sweetheart.’

Neither one of them said anything, and then—

‘Could stay here,’ said Guan Shan, quietly. He turned his palm face-up: innocuous, but an invitation nevertheless.

He Tian nodded slowly, glanced at it. His fingers fit tentatively between Guan Shan’s, his palm warm and pock-marked from pressing it into the concrete. ‘We could.’

Guan Shan chewed on his lip—and paused. If he narrowed his eyes, he could see just beyond the boundaries of Beijing, where the land began to rise in the west, clear of skyscrapers and apartment towers, small mountains yellowish and green in the hot, humid summer. If he narrowed his eyes, he could see the ground shifting like looking at heat waves on the highway, a plume of dust rising in the air like the aftermath of a demolition, or the earth splitting in two.

‘Hey,’ he said, his tongue sticking in his throat. He had to swallow twice. ‘Look.’

He Tian followed, squinted in the direction Guan Shan was pointing. His eyes widened. 

‘Oh.’

‘It’s startin’.’

A quiet sound of agreement: the collective understanding that it would be like this. A feeling of stupidity that it could be anything else. Gravitational disruption pulling down the mountains, earthquakes splitting the ground open, Earth pulled out of its orbit, water out from the seas. No bracing for impact, no quick death. The gradual process of a world falling apart. They’d all be dead before it even hit, each one living their own little agony.

He Tian hissed, making Guan Shan jump. When he looked down, he saw his fingernails had been biting into the back of He Tian’s hand, little rivulets of blood running towards his wrists. Guan Shan let go. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ He Tian said. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

A lie.

‘It’s goin’ to.’

He Tian smiled, took his hand again. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. Then he sighed, leaned back again, and looked at Makaria. Serenity. Almost, it was like he couldn’t see the earthquakes closing in on them, couldn’t feel the way the concrete trembled beneath them. Like he didn’t know that the ducts were going to burst soon, gas and water pipes exploding through the city, cars and buses like bombs pocketed through the streets. Like he didn’t care.

Guan Shan had always envied him this—that he almost made people believe it. Guan Shan wanted to not care, too. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ He Tian said again, letting go of Guan Shan’s hand to wrap it around his shoulders. It was a small action, the only thing that told Guan Shan the facade was a lie: he squeezed. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’

Another, final lie, but this time Guan Shan couldn’t help himself. He let himself believe it. He looked at Makaria, ignored the trembling, the distant sound of implosion and chaos, the shouts from the other people on the rooftop, and smiled. He was shaking, but He Tian was right: it _was_ beautiful. And terrifying, and ugly, and overwhelming, and destructive. 

And wasn't that kind of the point?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a **kudos/comment** if you liked, and consider **supporting me** through ways that are listed [on my Tumblr!](agapaic.tumblr.com)


End file.
